Where are you, Christmas?
by visceralfringe
Summary: James laughed. "You always go ruby when I tease you like that. Why?" br/"You know why," Steve muttered. "Just leave it alone."
1. Chapter 1

"Still gunning for a fight?" James rubbed his hands together before he cupped his mouth and huffed hot gusts into his palms. The syrupy tang of brandy scented his breath.

"It's the right thing to do," said Steve through chattering teeth. But it did feel strange to be on foreign soil on Christmas Eve.

The rest of the Commandos carried on outside the tent, their boisterous laughter and crude commentary slipping in with the winter chill.

Steve felt the iron pressure of James's hip against his.

"Why'd you bring me in here anyway? Fire's our best bet if we wanna keep warm."

James dropped his hands and shrugged with one of those smirks he wore when he had rotten plans.

"Not necessarily."

Steve smiled wryly. "I'm not touching the sauce, Buck. What if we're attacked? Booze doesn't work on me anyway."

"Darn. And here I was hoping to get you sloshed and have my way."

Steve's neck burned. He rolled his eyes. Lips pursed, Steve tightened his arms around his own abdomen to keep the wishful thinking out.

James laughed. "You always go ruby when I tease you like that. Why?"

"You know why," Steve muttered. "Just leave it alone."

"I remember. You were two beers in and I had to carry you home."

"Three," Steve corrected. "And the third one you slid me tasted a lot like scotch."

"I dropped you into bed. And when I threatened to kiss you—"

"James," Steve warned lowly. He despised the memory and the shame prickling through his throat. "Knock it off."

"Giving me orders now? I'm your Sergeant."

Letting some of the tension out of his back, Steve chuckled and shook his head. James was just drunk. And babbling.

Let him.

"So." James slapped his hands against his thick fatigues. "What'd you get me?"

Steve leveled him with a glare.

"Aw, come on. It's Christmas. You saying you forgot?"

"We're in a warzone." Steve vigorously rubbed his arms. "I was kind of busy."

"I'm hurt."

"Sheesh. You can have my ration to help your hangover tomorrow morning. OK?" Steve shifted, searching for a warmer spot on the blanket. "Blast, it's cold."

A heavy pause.

"Aren't you gonna ask what I got you?"

With barely enough patience to humor him, Steve cocked his head and looked sidelong at James. He waited.

James pointed up.

Steve followed his finger.

Hanging by a broken bootlace from the top of the tent was a sprig of juniper with white buttons sewn into it.

Steve went stone still before searching James' face for the punch line of his joke. James took that moment to seize Steve's chin and plant one on him.

Steve could taste the cognac, coffee, and candor on his lips. And James didn't let up until Steve started shivering for a different reason.

* * *

 **I cannot tell you all how long I've wanted to write my headcanon origin story of their romance.**

 **Christmas time, a recurring theme throughout this tale, seems like the appropriate time to start.**


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting on the swing, Steve stared down at his shoes—a size too big and caked with drying snow slush. The shoes were a gift from the lady tenant next door. Her boy wore them all through third and fourth grade. There had to be a hole in them somewhere because Steve could feel the cold creeping up his sock.

Tightening his hold around himself, he peered down the empty street again and searched.

Nothing.

He sealed his lips up tight, refusing to acknowledge how the bottom one quivered.

With an unbidden whine, he glanced up at the clock in the center of the square.

"When the little hand is on the twelve and the big hand is on the six," Steve repeated.

But the little hand was creeping close to the three and his father still hadn't come to walk him back to their new apartment. Steve had not yet memorized where it was. And Mother was working over at the ward across town. She took the subway. Some Sundays, he didn't see her until he woke up on Monday morning.

"Hey!" a young voice exclaimed. "You're that kid that passed out on the track during the Thanksgiving relay."

Steve wiped his face and blinked his vision clear. He followed the voice. Another boy in a thick winter coat and a hat sauntered onto the church playground.

Steve sniffed.

The boy, taller and bigger and brown haired, stopped in front of him and frowned.

"You OK?"

Steve nodded.

"Why are you still here? Mass ended two hours ago."

"Waiting," Steve supplied hollowly. "Why are you still here?"

The boy shrugged. "Mother Beatrice gives cookies to the kids who help clean up. I put away the most chairs. So I got a whole bag." The boy puffed out his chest and produced a brown paper bag from his pocket. "Want some?"

Steve studied him skeptically and sniffed again. The boy crossed the snow-cloaked sand and seated himself in the swing beside Steve. He opened the bag, seized a cookie, and started munching.

Steve licked his cracked lip.

"Here," the boy said. He held out a second cookie for Steve. Steve accepted it like a precious treasure and took a bite.

Sweet. Warm. Gooey.

Steve smiled some.

"I'm James," said the boy.

"I know," Steve whispered after swallowing. He knew because James and his friends had accidentally pushed him down and stepped on his finger at the July parade. It had swelled up as thick as a carrot. Steve had kept it hidden in his pocket. His father would have been disappointed that he was knocked around like that.

"What's your name?"

"Steve."

"Steve." James echoed. "That's a weird name. You should be bigger if your name is Steve. Like me and Timothy and Lucas. I play ball with them. Kristen and Dolly like to watch us."

Steve tried to smile. Kristen Corrigan was the prettiest girl at Saint Mary's. And everyone knew it. Even at seven years old, Steve knew it, too.

"But I like your name." James nodded and stuffed a second cookie into his mouth. "Maybe you'll grow into it one day."

"Maybe," Steve whispered clutching his cookie closer. "Thanks." Steve glanced down the road.

"Who are you waiting for?" asked James.

"My dad."

"Guess he forgot."

"Y—yeah. Maybe. He does that sometimes." Steve ducked his head to hide the fresh tears that welled in his eyes. He kicked his feet to distract himself. The swing whined.

"Which is good," James added quickly. "Now I can show you my favorite spot."

Steve looked at him. James was in the grade above him. Or was it two grades?

"Come on! I bet Mr. Moretti must be almost done with his afternoon spaghetti batch. He lets me have some if I take out the trash."

Steve, who had finished his cookie, sniffed and wiped his face.

"OK."

James smiled, stood up, and held out his hand. Steve took his hand and hoped off his swing.

#

"I'm going to tell you the biggest secret ever," said James a couple hours later. "Are you ready?"

Steve sat up straighter on the rooftop of the Italian eatery. The sun's edge touched the horizon.

"Do you positively promise and solemnly swear never to repeat this to anyone?" James pressed.

Steve nodded gravely.

"The Star of Bethlehem. You know the one I mean?"

Steve, rapt, nodded. "The star above Jesus when he was in the manger?"

"Yes. " James' attention darted from side to side, searching for open ears. "But… it wasn't a star, Steve."

Steve frowned, not bothering to wipe the splatter of marinara sauce from his chin after he slurped up another bite.

"What was it?"

"It was an alien spaceship."

Steve cracked a smile, rolled his eyes, and heaved out a huff.

"Well and truly!" James insisted, switching his fork to his left hand so he could cover his heart with his right one. "They just don't tell you that until you turn eight." With a sage nod, James went back to twisting his spaghetti noodles.

"Really, James? _Really_ really?" Steve asked, plunging his face into a stony frown.

"Really," James answered. "And you don't gotta call me James. It's Bucky. Just Bucky." He spooned a helping of spaghetti into his mouth.

"Oh. OK."

James turned his eyes up toward the sky and Steve watched him try to find the first stars.

Steve looked down, the chill in his shoes creeping back into his senses.

"Why are you being so nice to me, Bucky?" Steve asked, attention fastened to his own empty bowl.

"Because Kristen likes you," James said without hesitation.

Steve blinked rapidly. He had only talked to Kristen twice. Once when she dropped her grammar booklet and another when he couldn't find the nurse's office.

"She said you were a nice kid. She said I should protect you. She said you would be a better friend than Timothy and Lucas." He shoved noodles through the thin layer of sauce left in his bowl. "And I… I think she's right."

Slowly, Steve smiled. "Tell me about that spaceship."

With a grin, James brightened, scooted closer, and proceeded to tell Steve everything he knew about the Christmas cover-up.

And even though Steve knew he was lying through his teeth… he never wanted a moment to be truer.


End file.
